


Foreshadows

by the-eagle-of-masyaf (Dunkelherz)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:17:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunkelherz/pseuds/the-eagle-of-masyaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altair needs information on his target but the informant wants something in return...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreshadows

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that request on the Kink Meme.

“You're mad”, Altair hissed and turned slightly away and watched people passing the quiet alleyway out of the corner of his eye. The shouts of the merchants were distant but they still reached his ear, the air thick and the sun was shining merciless down from the sky, his skin covered by a thin film of sweat. He was a glimpse away from losing his patience, a few days of running in the heat looking for a man who was known to have a thousand faces could do that to novice – so maybe Altair was forgiven that the mere thought of pulling his dagger to end the informant's live was crossing his mind as quickly as an arrow could fly through the air. “That's blasphemy”, he added and turned back to the man.

 

He only rose his brows with mild curiosity at Altair, completely unimpressed. “For how long have you been chasing your target now?”, he asked and his voice sounded like the one belonging to an old man, filled with wisdom and patience. Altair didn't think he was an old man although his hair showed the first signs of white and the skin around his eyes and mouth was wrinkled. If he looked from the right angle at his informant, he could easily pass as his father, maybe.

 

“A month or more”, Altair muttered. “I've followed him all the way to Damascus, I know he's hiding in the poor district”, he explained and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You're working for the Brotherhood, I'm an Assassin – you owe me.”

 

It made the man smile, the wrinkles around his mouth stretching. “You're not an Assassin”, he chuckled amused. “You're a novice – and didn't your Master teach you well? I owe you nothing, I could just turn away and give the information to a man who's more willingly to get what he needs.”

 

Altair gritted his teeth, his hand turning into a tight fist. He looked at him as if there was nothing wrong with what he demanded for Altair to give him and it made Altair realize how tired he was. He was sweaty all over and his legs hurt from walking through the city all day long, his back hurting from the days he'd spend on a horse, riding through the desert following nothing but a ghost. He was tired from spending night after night on rooftops, overlooking the city in hopes to spot his target. He could end it, all of this by just giving into what the man asked of him. He had a choice here and he could either go on and spent another month looking for a man who was a damn master in hiding or he could give into the informant's demands, sacrificing a few minutes of his live to get what he wanted. To his pure horror, that choice was tempting. It made his anger boil, a hot thick layer of pure molted hate creeping along his soul, swallowing him and he tried to swallow it down, to keep professional to turn around and decline that informant's offer and move on. But he was running out of time and he knew, if he wouldn't come home successful within the time Al Mualim had set for him, he'd be denied to do the trial to become a true Assassin.

 

“You've made me such an dishonest offer – how do I know I can trust you to give me what I want in return?”, he asked, picking every of his words carefully. Sweat was running down his temple, his brow and it burnt in his eyes.

 

The man shrugged – he obviously didn't care much about Altair's concern. “I guess there's nothing I can say or do to convince you I stay to my word. I'd rather say you have to take a leap of faith”, he muttered underneath a mocking grin. Altair answered him with a hot burning glare and when he didn't say anything, the man sighed. “I take that as a no then”, he said and made to turn away from Altair. “I'm sure somebody will come I can share my information instead with.”

 

“No”, Altair said and took one step forward, his fingers curling around the man's arms. “I-” But he stopped when the informant looked at him and Altair found he couldn't stay that man's gaze, it made him feel dirty all over, made him feel even worse than he already was. “I”, he tried again before he swallowed the rising bile burning his throat, “...do it.”

 

The informant smiled and it made Altair sick. The man beckoned at him to follow him deeper into the alleyway, until the walls around them were so high that no light could touch the ground anymore, the shadows providing them with safety, shielded from unwished eyes.

 

The man held out his hand. “Your weapons”, he said and Altair took a step back, the wall pushing into his back. He shook his head and it made his informant rose an eyebrow. “You don't trust me and I don't trust you”, he said. “Your weapons or the deal won't happen”, he said again, this time more sternly.

 

Altair weighed his options, his eyes quickly scanning the man in front of him once more. He couldn't see any visible weapons, there still could be some hidden knifes and daggers underneath his robes. All of his instincts screamed at him to go, to just run away and find his target without the man's help but pure desperation made him move on. He wanted to do those trials, he wanted to hear Al Mualim's proud voice boom through Masyaf's courtyard, praising him in front of all the others. Altair was addicted to that praise, to that claps on his back and a smile of the old man. He was addicted to that warm feeling which made his chest swell, which made him keep his head higher his shoulders straighter. He was addicted to become better than everybody else. He _was_ better than anybody else.

 

His fingers unclasped his belt and he let it fall to the dusty ground with a soft thud. His knifes followed suit and he put his crossbow down carefully until in the end he placed his sword against the wall. He stood there, fully clothed and felt more naked than he could ever feel without clothes on. Altair felt vulnerable and he hated that feeling with a passion.

 

The informant offered him a lopsided grin, eyes lidded as they roamed across his body. He rose one hand and made a rotation motion with his finger. “Turn around boy”, he murmured and his voice had dropped a few octaves, sounded thicker, rougher.

 

Altair did and he felt his stomach drop, as if he'd fall and fall and fall – he was weightless and yet it felt as if he was pushed to the ground. His eyes moved across the wall in front of him, his palms pressing against it as if he needed it to keep his balance. He tracked all the cracks in the stones, focused on the small ants crawling across them when he felt his informant's breath on his neck. There was a single drop of sweat running down his spine, lost somewhere in the folds of his shirt as the man behind him pressed up against his back. He could hear the distant shouts of a woman as he closed his eyes, followed by the cry of a child. Hands were pulling at his clothes, exposing his skin to the air and he felt trapped between the wall and the man behind him, the rough stones scratching while he felt an unwelcome bulge meeting his backside. Fingers were tracing his chest, an eagle crying above his head and he turned his head, his cheek meeting the wall. Altair thought he'd heard footsteps and it made him jerk but the man pressed only tighter, keeping him still. “Sssh”, he whispered into his ear, lips moving along skin as his fingers fumbled with Altair's pants, palming him through the thin fabric. “You won't regret this”, his informant said and after that, everything went so fast Altair had trouble keeping up with what was happening.

 

One moment he was standing the next he found himself on the ground in a cloud of dusk and his head made hard contact with a stone. It made him feel dizzy for a moment but his instincts kicked in, his hand reaching for his hip to grab the familiar hilt of his sword only to touch nothing but empty air. Right. No weapons. Altair rolled around and came up to his knees trying to get on his feet as the word was turning around him. His vision was blurry and he saw a shadow standing above the heap of a man lying there, black water staining the ground around him and it took Altair a second or two to realize it was blood. He watched the shadow turn towards him, a faceless hood staring at him and Altair stumbled, his hand making contact with his sword leaning against the wall before he rose it above his head ready to attack. His opponent easily stepped aside, Altair's sword meeting empty air and he grunted, angry, and made to turn around before he was hit with something in the back. It made him lose his balance, the sword falling from his hand and his knee hit the ground. He was still dizzy and the world just didn't slow down but only spun faster and faster.

 

Altair vomited and his shoulders trembled underneath dry heaves. He felt a hand on his back as his arms gave out underneath him and he was turned onto his back as he laid there in his own puke. He hoped nobody would tell Al Mualim how his corpse was found. He hoped whoever would find him here would have the dignity to not tell about how Altair died with open pants and unarmed in his own puddle of vomit. Those were the last thoughts which crossed his mind, right before he lost consciousness.

 

 

xxx

 

 

His head hurt when he woke and the air was thick but it was quiet, so very quiet. Altair could make out the sound of water splashing softly and jerked when he felt it running down his chest. He opened his eyes instantly and was greeted by new pain crushing like waves on top of him, burying him and pulling him away. He groaned.

 

“Stupid novice”, a voice muttered and the cloth was dragged down his chest. “What were you thinking?”

 

Altair tried again, opening his eyes slower this time and the face hovering above him slowly made sense. “I owe you nothing”, he said but his voice sounded small and worn out, thin even.

 

“Mmmh, yes you do”, Malik said. “Or you could just explain it to Master after I made my report to him, telling him how I came to found a Brother in an alleyway selling himself to another man.”

 

“I wasn't selling-”, Altair said and tried to get up but he was as strong as a newborn kitten and it took Malik just one finger against his chest to push him back.

 

“Then you were acting on your own desires.” Malik rose a single eyebrow before his eyes narrowed. “Which makes it even worse.”

 

Altair ignored the remarks and let his eyes slip shut again. “Did you kill him?”

 

“Yes”, Malik said.

 

“You've killed an innocent-”

 

“He was attacking a Brother, I simply acted.”

 

“He wasn't attacking me-” Altair said and cut himself off.

 

“Because you were too busy to let him fuck you to not notice the knife he was holding against your neck.”

 

It made Altair's go wide within a second and-

 

He stared back up at Malik. Shame was rising like a wave, consuming his body in a storm of fire. His cheeks turned pink and his body felt hot. He tasted bitter anger on his tongue and he wanted to punch Malik so bad that his shoulders trembled. He wanted to make the memory vanish, he wanted to erase this afternoon from his and Malik's mind. Altair hated Malik that moment. He'd witnessed him in his most vulnerable moment but what's far more worse, he'd witnessed Altair in one of his most foolish moments. He'd easily risk his life just to avoid a few more days or running in the heat, just because he didn't want to come back and disappoint Al Mualim.

 

“You will nobody tell about this”, he hissed slowly and Malik cocked his head to one side, dipped the cloth back into the water basin and dragged it down Altair's stomach one more. It made him painfully aware of wearing nothing but his trousers and he took a careful look around. “We're not in the bureau”, he noticed.

 

“We're not”, Malik shook his head. “Couldn't bring a half naked Brother covered in his own blood and vomit back to Damascus's rafiq, could I?” Malik clicked his tongue. “I brought you to one of my hiding spots.” It also answered Altair's question – if Malik planned on really reporting the incident to Al Mualim, he would have brought Altair to the rafiq in the first place. He watched how Malik shifted his weight, then straddled Altair's hips and looked down at him. His hand reached out, fingers moving through Altair's hair and to the back of his head. “You didn't need stitches”, he said absently and still, Altair hissed when he touched the edges of the wound. “But you should rest for a day or two... make sure to get back to strength before you move one.” Malik's voice was quieter now, almost soft. His hand fell from Altair's head and instead pressed flat against the floor right next to it so he could lean close to his face. “What were you doing there, mh? In that filthy alleyway”, he breathed in a low murmur and it made Altair swallow.

 

“I was getting informations”, Altair hissed and he tried to press further back into the beddings as if he was trying to get away from Malik's demanding gaze. “He-”

 

“He?”, Malik asked as Altair found it impossible to speak any further, instead pressed his lips tightly together. He stared up at Malik, saying nothing.

 

“I tell you from what it looked like then”, Malik hummed and leaned closer still and Altair could smell the traces of figs on Malik's breath. “It looked like as if you sold your body like a _whore_ to a man who could easily be your father – don't you feel ashamed for this?”

 

It made Altair's cheeks grew hot with anger. “What do you think? That I'm going to jerk myself off to the memory tonight?” His voice dripped with venom. “He held the informations I needed to get to my target, he asked for my body in return so I gave it to him.”

 

Malik nodded as if he'd understand but Altair doubted that was the case. “You make it sound so simple”, Malik said.

 

“It wasn't”, Altair tried to assure him.

 

“I hope it wasn't”, Malik muttered. “Because I've thought it was clear”, he muttered and he was so close Altair's eyes crossed when he tried to look at him, “that you are mine”, Malik added and his lips brushed across Altair's.

 

“It is”, he muttered and his eyes slipped close as he tried to follow those lips, to get a bit more of them than just a brush just so he could erase the memories of how the old man's lips felt on his skin.

 

“I have my doubts”, Malik muttered and sat up straight again. He frowned, “I have to admit I'm honestly disappointed in you. How could you even consider his offer?”, he asked in disbelieve and it made Altair turn his head away, unable to stand Malik's gaze any longer.

 

“I have my reasons”, he muttered.

 

“There can't be enough reason than to drop down and act like a whore”, Malik hissed.

 

“I wasn't acting like a whore!”, Altair suddenly roared and this time, he did sit back up and it made him feel dizzy, his hand reaching out to grab one of Malik's shoulders and he felt Malik's arm sneak around his back, holding him up, supporting his weight.

 

“You keep telling yourself that”, Malik whispered, holding him close and his lips were pressed against Altair's ear. “And maybe one day, you even believe yourself.”

 

It was enough to crack him and as Altair thought none of this could get any more worse, it did. His hard shell was splitting open with each one of Malik's words and in the end, he was trembling and his hand came up as he held on to Malik, eyes closed and his whole body shaking by unleashed tears. He was sobbing, deep grunts of pure pain crawling up his throat and he hid his face in Malik's shoulder. Altair felt dirty and he wanted to cut off skin, rip his own flesh from his bones. He was prepared for another round of harsh words coming out of Malik's mouth speaking nothing but the truth but nothing happened. He simply held on to Altair, not saying a thing and instead rubbed his hand in soothing circles across the younger man's back. In the end his sobs had turned quiet and were replaced by a soft sniffle every now and then. Malik kept on holding him and only pulled away when the last tears had already dried. He looked at Altair.

 

“I heard your target heads to the market in the mornings”, Malik spoke softly. “In the Arab district. He meets with a man by the fountains, maybe you should go there and eavesdrop on them”, he whispered into Altair's ear. “When you're better”, he added.

 

Altair felt heavy. He felt completely worn out and his lungs burned. His eyes searched Malik's face and he nodded eventually, each movement making his head hurt.

 

“Altair”, Malik said and the letters rolled smoothly across his lips. “You're safe here.”

 

He nodded but Malik cupped his face and he leaned his brow against Altair's. “You're safe”, he repeated and Altair had heard him the first time but the second time made the words sink in.

 

“You're safe”, Malik repeated once more and kissed his forehead. “And I will take care of you.”

 

And maybe that was even true but Altair knew, his hurt run deeper than Malik could ever reach it. 


End file.
